I envy naive drones in the ceremonial accident, and I purchase large books for gradual injection, but they are oblivious to which name is mine, which provides a glorious tragedy for accompanying my luke warm glass of bitter tea, and I pour out these confessions to stimulate the internal fibers because I have no other choice, but to be a permeable screen that narrates the acts of travel passing through itself, and I cry when genetics malfunction because abrupt sight jars ill prepared toddlers on moonlit nights, which gives reason to dissect joyously and subsequently reconfigure formal shapes anew for the sake of nothing, but the religion of verbs, and I admire tendencies favoring kites, which adhere laughter to my blistered hopes, and I offer ladders for climbing, but only together, and for the hybrid reason of arriving and departing, which corrodes into a paradoxical omission of value, but if territorial determination is forgotten, then our normal textures might twist into inspirational bliss, which could traumatize our biological government to the point of a mortal seizure, and I just believe in training for the ability to practice these synergistic intellectualizations, but I miss her emptying soul, and this architecture hates a theme pivoting around ugly chances for redemption.
I critique the falsehood of error on nights where annihilation screams in a rampage down innocent hallways because of a mortal piece of land abandoned in the biological thinking unit, and I inflect shame accidently, but probably intentionally to confirm my difference and reject their absurd obedience to a cracking rationale, that limps while dictating how the tools should be used in the arena.
I retrieve aromatic films through denounced engagements, and it has little power to alter features of my ego because this stubborn courage defends against bourgeois caveats.
I hug cameras while drinking tea as the work month begins, and they forgot why because of that naked desire to conceal vulgar maps about secondary universes, but I juxtapose recklessly in a manner programed for delicious testing of funny shaped instances within this contrived box of angry lighting and water faucets.
I wish for populated ceremonies, but I keep forcing solitary, and the equipment rings loudly when science fails because her palette remains indivisible, yet I maintain an edge on this insanity, which acts confident near hostile gambling, and I love careful passion under fluffy blankets with humane intentionality.
I fill up tanks with neglected gems of knowledge from ordinary contexts, but I still wait for the germination, and these right angles taunt morality because of the inherited stock of revelations imbued into frozen mistakes, but I press limits in honor of the obligatory responsibility that comes attached to patterns of leadership.
I recover from that mystery in enough time to secure biological intensification, but this cynical pulley system is highly annoying because of it’s dire way of persistently erasing all new strategies, and I await the gauge’s verdict while salivating about the composed piles of letters that are challenging her to a match for ownership of me.